


rain

by Arzani



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, I didn't know what I did here, James is McGraw, John is a mystery as ever, M/M, Melancholy, Multi, Rain, Thomas is an angel, Word Porn, and sad, but Thomas and James are there for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: James and Thomas hold out an umbrella for John, who stands alone in the rain.





	1. rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maggie_Kyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_Kyle/gifts).



It’s raining. Heavy drops hit the pavement, everyone another beat to their natural rhythm. The coldness starts to seep through their jackets, through their pants and shoes. His socks are already wet. The leather of his boots dark from the puddles. Strands of wet hair hang around the edges of his face despite the umbrella he’s under. It’s raining. But James couldn’t care less.

Next to him, one arm slung around his, walks Thomas. Blond, tall, his mouth a smile, his eyes crinkled. Hands covered with thick gloves. Hair hidden by a wooly hat. They walk in sync, one step after the other. They aren’t in a rush. James isn’t in a rush. It’s Friday and the weekend with his husband is only starting. Why should a little rain bother him?

It’s the perfect weather to spend the evenings on a couch, to watch a movie, to cuddle under the blanket, to kiss the love of your life senseless. To kiss and touch and feel and never let go. James is content with this weather. He’s content with his life.

Their house is only another few minutes further.

The city is grey. Orange light from the lamps reflect in the wet ground. It shimmers in all colors with the oil from the cars passing by. Engines sir but are a background noise only. Instead he listens to Thomas’ breathing. Listens to his beating heart. To the laughter in his step. James presses him a little closer despite it making walking harder. Thomas chuckles next to him.

“I missed you,” James whispers as a kind of explanation, an explanation he doesn’t need to give. Thomas understands. He always does.

“I missed you, too,” Thomas replies, because he wants to. Because it makes James happy and Thomas knows that. They stop, kiss, a peck only, before it turns into a display of emotions in the middle of the street. In the middle of a raining evening. It will happen at home. When they move again they’re silent but talking all the same. With their body’s movements. With their faint touches. With the brush of each other’s elbows. With holding the umbrella over their heads.

They don’t pay mind to anyone. Not until they see a figure in front of them, waiting at a traffic light on the other side of the street. He’s shorter then even James, who is shorter than Thomas. His curls, dark as the night, hang around his face. He has stark blue eyes. They seem to shine in the grey world. They are the only thing that shines. A dim light slowly turning grey. Like the city. Like the pavement. Like a flame flickering before it turns to ash. If James had wanted to draw sadness he would draw this very man.

He’s holding an umbrella, too. Other than Thomas’ and his, the man’s umbrella is black. His coat is black. It’s worn, too. Old, rugged. His shoes are a dark brown. James doesn’t know why it catches his eyes. Maybe because it’s the only thing on the man that’s not black. Other than his eyes.

A gush of wind surprises them, but Thomas is able to catch their umbrella before it can fly away. The man at the other side of the street is not so lucky. Before anyone can do anything it’s out of his hand. It drifts towards the street. A car takes it, breaks it. Unnoticed the car drives its way, leaving a broken thing in a broken world. The rain catches the man unbidden, drains him, soaks him in moments. The traffic light turns green. He doesn’t move.

It has always been easy to read Thomas’ mind. When they look at each other it’s crystal clear on his face, in the way he looks at James. He nods, just a minimal movement of his head, and they share an understanding. They cross the street, next to each other. A spot of brightness in the grey of the city, with their rainbow umbrella, their blue and green scarfs, their easy smiles.

Blue eyes look up startled when said rainbow umbrella is blocking the rain. Securing the man from getting any wetter. He blinks, his gaze darting from James to Thomas back to James. He looks shocked. Which is better than him looking sad. It suits him. Suits him because it brings out expressions James hadn’t been sure the man had. He has. And he is beautiful. It suddenly hits him how beautiful the man is. James has rarely seen another human being as beautiful. Thomas. Thomas was the last one that has struck him like the man strikes him now. With his dazzling blue eyes and his edgy face. With his dark locks sticking to his face and neck. His whole self changes when the sadness is driven away.

“Uhm.”

The man is rendered speechless, but it only makes Thomas chuckle. He cooks his head, grins. He looks adorable with his woolen hat and scarf. With his inviting smile. Like the angel he is.

“You seemed like you needed a little good in your life.”

Thomas always finds the perfect words and James admires him for it. The man seems to think similar, because he looks sheepishly surprised. Smiles faintly. It is a flower announcing spring. A real smile on that face must be like a field full of flowers in bloom. It must be astonishing.

“It seems I do.”

The man’s voice is a dark rumble, full like a ripe wine. He shifts a little, stepping aside so he doesn’t brush Thomas’ side. Probably to avoid getting him wet. His movement seems staggering, like something is wrong. James can’t put his finger on it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, …” James replies, taking the lead of the conversation. Looks at him questionably. The man takes the hint and smirks.

“John. John Silver. I would shake hands but I’m afraid they just fall off frozen.”

The joke makes Thomas laugh and he shakes his head. A cute little gesture, completely Thomas. So full of him, James falls for him, just like that, a little more. It’s the small things that draw him to his husband. The small things he loves about this wonderful man. It’s always the small things. Like holding out their umbrella for a stranger.

“Thomas McGraw and this is James, my husband. Where do you need to go? We can walk you.”

The man – John – looks away, his shoulders slump a little and the little light that had lit up his face fades. He seems to huddle into himself. It tugs at James’ heart.

“Nowhere,” he mumbles, a low rumble, James nearly overhears. It is sadness painted by a voice. Sadness again. Always sadness. A sadness that doesn’t suit this face, those blue eyes, this handsome young man. “But thank you.”

They share another look, Thomas and James. A look that speaks volumes. That shifts their world. That changes their lives. They know, but they don’t care. Life consists of taking risks and John Silver seems like one. A risk. An opportunity. A gift.

Another person in their lives. A person to make them complete.

“We live close-by. Only five minutes from here.” Thomas’ words are like leaves dancing in the wind.

“You can come if you like, wait until the rain stops. Get warm. Dry.” James’ words are like the deep roots of a tree.

“Are you serious?” John asks. And they nod, take him by the hand. Lead him into their lives. John Silver. His words are like the branches, connecting them. Swishing from here to there in a storm, but never breaking, only bending until the rain stops.

“Of course, we are.”

Until someone holds out an umbrella for him.


	2. hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas get John out of the rain.

He knew it to be coming. It had been looming on the horizon, and still it hit John when it was there finally. Fired. Unable to pay him. They would love to keep him, but they can’t. The economy is low, business is running tight. He was a capable bartender, his smile always charming, but. There is always a but. He knows his but too well. It’s attached to him and simultaneously taken from him forever.

The rain feels like a mirror to his soul. Heavy and cold, soaking him thoroughly. The umbrella he holds can shield him only so much. He doesn’t care. His mind refuses to wrap itself around the current situation. What it means for him. What it will mean for him.

He walks because he has nowhere to be. Has nowhere to go. His savings will pay his rent for one more month. If he can sell the car, that old piece of junk, maybe two. Coldness seeps under his coat and catches him. Traps him. He doesn’t want to think about it. Can’t think about it, because there is no hope in his thoughts.

The city is grey, his thoughts are grey, the streets under his shoes are grey. Only the traffic light is a dot of color. The traffic light and the happy couple on the other side of the street. They seem far away. Like their world is separated from his by a wall of raindrops. It’s fitting. John will never belong to this kind of world. A world where people are happy together. Who would want him?

A gust of wind takes his umbrella. Before he can reach for it it’s on the street. He watches, almost detached from himself, how a car takes it, breaks it, and drives away. Unnoticed of the destruction. Does it even matter? It’s not like he owns much. Now he owns even less.

The water makes its way under his coat and onto his skin relentlessly. He’s cold, wet and he doesn’t feel any of it. His long, dark curls clutch to his face, get into his eye and John doesn’t find the strength to swipe them away. Instead the rain torments him. Until it doesn’t anymore.

Looking up, his gaze sweeps from left to right and back. The happy couple stands next to him, their faces close and friendly, holding the umbrella high to shield him. It takes John by surprise and he knows it shows on his face.

“Uhm,” he gets out, trying to find words. It is hard, because those two men are beautiful. Their expressions are open, their eyes seem to shine, a sea-green and sky-blue color, like heaven and ocean combined. It reflects in their clothes, in the scarfs they wear, and in the umbrella they hold. The colors of the rainbow in it just emphasize what everyone with eyes can see. It seems to say, “Look at us, we’re happy and we belong.” John thinks they truly do.

A chuckle reaches his ear and John looks at the taller of the two. His blond hair is covered by a woolen hat. It would look ridiculous on everyone else, but this man wears it like no one else. He wears it with a quiet elegance.

“You seemed like you needed a little good in your life.”

The voice is smooth, but warm. It loosens the knot in John’s tongue. Makes him speak. Somewhere in the back of his throat a smile slips through with it.

“It seems I do.”

He shifts, realizing suddenly how wet he is. How bleak compared to the couple next to him. Still they offered friendliness in this grey world. It became rare. Friendliness. John knows it very intimately. The absence of it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, …” the other man says and it’s easy to know where he is trying to stir this conversation. For a moment John thinks about lying, getting out of it with a charming smile. But for what? To abuse two men’s kindness? His heart doesn’t let him. It’s bruised, hidden away, cut and wounded, but not dead, yet. Still a living, breathing thing. His traitorous heart.

“John. John Silver.” He smirks, wonders if he should shake hands and remembers the cuts. The scars. Better not. “I would shake hands but I’m afraid they just fall off frozen.”

His attention is drawn back to the taller man, who laughs lowly. It sounds like a bell ringing in a crisp winter night. It sounds like hope and John wonders if this is it. The proof that happy people are more beautiful, are shining from the inside, like this man does in this moment. Because he is. Beautiful. They both are. John feels tainted in comparison.

“Thomas McGraw and this is James, my husband. Where do you need to go? We can walk you.”

Thomas. James. He knows he will remember those names. It’s a small mercy before his shoulders slump at the question. He thinks about his small flat. Empty. Dark. He thinks about the rent he needs to pay and the money he doesn’t have. He knows that soon enough even this flat will be gone. Looking away he wonders what to tell, before he just goes with what feels like the truth. It’s not enough.

“Nowhere. But thank you.”

It’s not enough. But when was his life ever? When was he ever?

“We live close-by. Only five minutes from here.” It’s Thomas who speaks those words and it takes a moment for them to register in his mind. Is he really?

“You can come if you like, wait until the rain stops. Get warm. Dry.” James picks up Thomas’ sentence, gives it emphasis. Reaches deep into John’s soul and plucks at a long-forgotten string. He doesn’t know how to feel. But suddenly the world feels less grey. It’s only for a moment, John knows. But he wants to cling to it. Doesn’t know what other to cling to. He has nothing else.

“Are you serious?” Because he can’t believe it just yet. Can’t believe there are still people out who know kindness. Who give kindness freely.

“Of course, we are.”

The words make him shiver, but only until James takes his hand, tugs him into movement. When has he revealed his scar-filled hands? The contact feels warm. Soft. It feels like Thomas’ smile. Like the rainbow that is their umbrella.

They walk in silence. Thomas on John’s left and James on his right. John can feel they have laced their fingers behind his back and it makes him feel included. Because they give him enough space to walk between their bodies. Like he belongs, even when he doesn’t.

They usher him into a house with several apartments. James unlocks the door, while Thomas shakes out the umbrella. It clicks when he closes it.

“It’s up the second level,” James’ says and he follows this man, as he slowly shrugs off his jacket. John can see the muscles work under the fabric and heat seeps into his cheeks. It’s not his place to look. That he looks anyway makes him feel like a deviant. Slowly his gaze falls to the floor. What person is he to abuse kindness so shamelessly?

James opens a wooden door, smiles and gives John a look into what seems like a cozy little flat. It’s bright, warm. Photos frame the wall of the hallway. Of James and Thomas and other people. A woman with brown hair is in almost every photo. Her smile is enticing.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” Thomas says as he hangs up his coat. John nods, unable to look away from the photos. Unable to look away from something that seems so far from his reach. A stable life. Happiness. People who belong. “James be a darling and get John something dry.”

“If you make tea,” James counters and Thomas grins. It’s such a warm and bright grin. As is James’ smile. His eyes sparkle with the little tease. It must be a tease because Thomas puffs his cheeks. Bristles. Picks the woolen hat from his hair and puts it aside.

“I do, I do. Now,” Thomas says, can’t decide if he should be angry or amused. It’s such a sweet domestic scene, John wonders what he is doing here. Between them. It feels like he his watching a movie. With written lines. Because it looks like perfection. Like something unreal. Like a scene out of a dream. A place he doesn’t belong to. He shrugs off his coat, holds it in his arms. Unsure what to do with it.

“Let me take that,” James says and reaches for the coat. John gives it over, reluctantly. A small part of him wants to run from this, because he feels it will rip him apart if he indulges too deeply. Getting comfortable in this happiness means much more pain when it’s ripped away from him again. And it will be ripped away. It’s always ripped away. They are already a happy couple with a happy life. This house is so tightly filled with radiant light, John knows there is no space for him and his brooding darkness.

John watches James hang up his coat before he is faced again by the man. It hits him how beautiful he is. Sea-green eyes, freckles dancing around his nose, a neatly trimmed beard and copper hair. Thomas is lucky. James is lucky as well, because Thomas is beautiful, too. Different from James. But beautiful nonetheless. John can see it, watching the tall, blond man vanish behind a door that must lead to the kitchen.

“Come in, please. You can have some of my things. Thomas is right, those wet clothes aren’t healthy.” James’ voice is a deep rumble, like fire crackling in a fireplace. John nods, slips out of his shoes and follows James. Even his socks are wet. His hair drips. He feels like he leaves a wet stain on the floor. His leg aches. It’s the cold. The long walk. It’s his miserable life he can’t seem to change or escape from.

James opens a door which reveals a bedroom. The big double bed is covered by rumpled blankets. As if they had rather taken an extra minute to stay in it than bother with tidying up. It looks soft. Like home. At the wall is a big wardrobe with a mirror. John catches his reflection. Sees a dark figure wearing dark clothes. His pullover is a dark blue. Blending in neatly with his dark trousers, dark hair and dark rings under his eyes. The figure disappears as James opens the wardrobe door. But John knows he’s still there.

A t-shirt, a hoodie and some slacks land on the bed. They’re all different color. The slacks in a military olive. The hoodie a deep night-sky blue, the shirt a soft white. James motions him to change, before he steps aside. Walks to the door. He’s nearly out, then turns again. “I get you a towel for your hair.”

John manages to nod, overwhelmed again by all this kindness. He’s not used to it. Has forgotten people can be kind. James and Thomas seem to inherit it. Like it’s the easiest feat in the world. To be kind. John knows it is not.

He stands still, next to the bed. Doesn’t know what to do. What to think. But slowly he feels the coldness he hadn’t felt before. As if the warmth of the McGraws had him realize he is allowed to feel something. Slowly he reaches for his own shirt, draws it over his head. He uses it to squeeze most of the water out of his hair. His trousers follow. He purposefully doesn’t look into the mirror again. Yet he can’t unsee the prothesis that is attached to what remains of his left leg. With swift, sluggish movements he steps into the dry slacks. But ignoring that he is broken doesn’t unmake it. He will never be whole again.

Just as he puts the shirt on the door opens again, and John feels another person’s presence. He slowly pulls the rest of the fabric down, before he turns. James stands in the doorway, a towel in hand. The green of his eyes seems to have intensified. They shimmer. They bloom. They rake over him as if to glance into his soul. A shudder runs through him, unbidden, but not uncomfortable. Until John realizes what it is he feels, and that it is not his place. Thomas is only a few steps away.

“Thank you,” John tries to say without revealing too much through his voice. It wavers only slightly. “For all of this.”

“You’re very welcome.” James steps in. Gives him the towel and looks at him again. Let his gaze wander from his still wet hair, down his body to his feet. John still wears his wet socks. James frowns, shakes his head. Opens a drawer at a bedside table and rummages until he holds some woolen socks in his hand. “I forgot,” he admits and hands them over.

John takes them as if the socks where from outer space. He feels his cheeks heat with shame. Because every normal person would just slip them on and say thank you. But he can’t. Can’t do something as easy without revealing he’s wearing a prothesis. He doesn’t want James to see. Doesn’t want the man to pity him even more than he must already do.

It’s in this moment that Thomas steps into the room as well. He wears a bright smile, his hair tousled as if he had run his hand through it. Absentmindedly. Without a care in the world. The beauty in his stance, his smile, his everything is blinding. “Tea is ready,” he says. It’s too much. They both are too much. He sinks to the floor, leans against the bed and stares up to them. Thomas and James. James and Thomas. There is no space, no ring, no place for John in Thomas and James.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Lowly. Without much emphasis in his voice. Everything in him swirls. “I should go.” Even though he sits and doesn’t know how to stand up. Even though he’s still wearing their clothes. They’re a little too big. Not as much as for them to be Thomas’. Thomas who watches him out of steady eyes. Thomas, who drops next to him on his right side. Brushes their knees together.

“It’s still raining outside, and you only just now got into dry clothes. We’re not holding you here. But you are welcome to stay for a little while longer.”

The towel is dropped on his head. Steals his sight. A body shifts closer, sits to his left. Knees brush and John shudders involuntarily. James must feel his prothesis. Must feel it’s not flesh. Must feel it’s not real. Fake. John doesn’t want to see the expression James wears. Doesn’t want to remove the towel from his head. As the silence stretches on, he eventually does.

Green eyes meet his. They look fond. It’s not pity in them. It’s understanding. James knows. But he doesn’t bother. The gulp in John’s throat turns from fear to something else. He slowly reaches for the woolen socks he has dropped, strips his own and reveals that he is only half a man. Only that neither James nor Thomas look at him like they share his thought. They look at him as if he’s whole. Complete. And suddenly he feels less broken.

The whole train of thought is gone when he slips into the woolen socks. Lets the smooth fabric caress his one remaining foot. Delves in the warmth he feels. A warmth not only coming from the socks. He feels Thomas and James lace their fingers behind his back. Include him in their connection. Something blossoms in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“We should get into the kitchen, or else the tea gets cold,” James murmurs.

“We should,” Thomas answers.

Yet none of them move. The feeling in John’s chest blossoms further. Like a flower slowly unfurling with the beginnings of spring. If he had to give it a name, John would probably call this feeling hope.

Hope.


End file.
